Inner Demons
by UZI4U
Summary: While chasing a murderous spirit through the Southeast, Dean and Sam get a message from their dad. He wants them to find a girl who holds the key to destroting this spirit...Rating upped just in case. LAST CHAPTER UP!
1. Chapter 1

Author: UZI4U

Disclaimer: Don't own the Winchester brothers, but sure wish I did, especially Dean.

Summary: While tracking a murderous spirit through the southeast, Sam and Dean get a message from their Dad. He wants them to find a girl who holds the key to destroying this spirit…

AN: I used real cities in Georgia, but all of the additional characters are completely fictional, so no one get offended. Also, thanks for all the lovely reviews of my first fic, you guys are great! -Lauren (Uzi)

Chapter 1

LaFayette, Ga. October 24, 2005. 2:38pm

"Victim died of strangulation. The larynx was crushed, by human hands-judging by the bruising around the throat." The medical examiner placed a thumb on the body's chin and pried the mouth open. "No vomit, not that I expected any."

She gingerly lowered the dead woman's head to the floor and turned to the detective who was standing over her. "She's the same as the other two, Ron. Frankly, I just don't get it."

Detective Ron Simmons rolled his shoulders uneasily. He'd been with the LaFayette PD for almost twenty years, but something about this case had him spooked.

The call had come not two hours ago; a neighbor had seen Bill Freemont tear out of the driveway in the family car, a blue Pontiac Bonneville. The neighbor had heard screams coming from the house prior to Freemont's departure and the front door had been left open. When patrol arrived, they found Freemont's wife and two sons lying motionless on the living room floor, dead.

"I don't get it either Trish, I knew Bill. He was a devoted family man." Ron replied as he jotted down a rough summary of the ME's statement. "This is just like that case three days ago up in Knoxville. "A woman disappeared right before family was found dead, all of them strangled."

The M.E. _tisk tisked_ through her teeth as she lifted Mrs. Freemont's arms to look for defensive wounds. She found none. "Poor baby, she knew her attacker."

Ron flipped his notepad closed and tucked it into the pocket of his blazer. He left Trish to her morbid task and paced around the room.

There were family photos everywhere, nailed to the wall and arranged carefully along the mantle. Mrs. Freemont had just set out a vase of fresh cut wildflowers. One of the boys had tucked a pair of soccer cleats into the magazine rack. This was, or rather had been, a happy household.

__

Why? Ron wondered. _Why would Bill do this?_ But part of him refused to believe that his friend could ever commit such a heinous act.

"Detective Simmons?" a uniformed patrol officer ducked under the crime scene tape and stepped into the room. "Sir, patrol just spotted a blue Bonneville headed south on 27."

Rome, Ga.

Dean aimed the nozzle and squeezed the trigger. A jet of sparkling water shot out of the hose and surged across the hood of the black, '69 Impala, sweeping away foamy soap bubbles. The nozzle was leaking, and an icy cold mist was slowly soaking his jeans and boots. But Dean didn't care, at least for the moment. He was thrilled to have found a self-serve carwash. Those touch-less run through places just couldn't get his baby clean.

It was moments like this when Dean could almost forget just how screwed up his life was. For thirty minutes he was just a normal guy, albeit a very handsome one he reminded himself, washing his car. He could almost forget that he was chasing evil across the country with his kid brother.

Kid brother. Well, maybe as far as age went, but Sam was now a good three inches taller than his brother. But no matter how tall Sam got, Dean would always think of him as the precious bundle he'd carried from their burning house twenty- two years ago.

"Hey, did you see this morning's paper?" Sam called from his position leaning against one of the free vacuums.

"Nah. Anything interesting?" Dean hung the faulty nozzle on its peg and swiped hopelessly at his wet jeans.

A slight grin played across Sam's lips, Dean looked as if he'd wet his pants. But he returned to his usual guarded expression before answering. "Yesterday the LaFayette police reported that the Freemont family had been murdered. The main suspect is the husband, who's still at large."

"How were they killed?"

"Strangled."

"Just like the Richmond and Knoxville cases," Dean scowled. For the past week he and Sam had followed the trail of what they believed to be an enraged spirit, bent on murdering helpless southeners. "I don't understand this spirit, its possessions are so random."

"Yeah, but its MO is the same."

"Since when are you a cop?" Dean teased.

Sam shrugged and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his low rider jeans. "It's just that most spirits have a goal, some kind of unfinished business. This one kills the same way, always a family, but the victims are random."

Just then, a leggy blonde came striding through the ten or so paces between the brothers and Dean paused to flash his pearly whites. She gave him a knowing wink, but kept walking. He waited until she was out of earshot before responding.

"Okay Sammy, if you were a possessed man who'd just murdered your family, where would you go?"

Sam gave his brother a dry look.

"Hey man," Dean held up his hands defensively. "All I'm sayin' is that we have no way of knowing where this spirit's headed. We can't just go door to door asking people if they've had any sudden urges to strangle their spouses."

Sam knew Dean had a point, he just didn't want to admit it. Ever since Jessica's death he'd refused to accept defeat in their dealings with the paranormal. If he couldn't stop your run of the mill specter, how could he ever destroy her killer?

"I thought you were the one who wanted to 'kill every evil son of a bitch we come across' until we find Dad?" Sam questioned.

Dean set his jaw and sighed deeply through his nostrils. So much for his 'precious bundle'. Sometimes Sam could be such a pain. He pulled open the driver's side door of the Impala and reached for a dirty T-shirt that he could use to wipe down the car. His cell phone was perched on the dash and the screen caught his eye for a split second; he had a missed call.

"Here," he tossed the shirt at Sam who rolled his eyes and began toweling water from the hood.

"Is this my shirt?" Sam asked.

Dean shushed him and pressed the phone to his ear to listen to the message that had been left. After several seconds he pulled the phone away with a dazed expression.

"What's wrong?" Sam paused in the middle of wiping the windshield and stared at his brother with concern.

Dean swallowed with notable difficulty. "That was Dad."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I know that after 'Skin' Dean might have a slight problem posing as a cop, being wanted for murder and all, but I'm choosing to overlook that fact. And I promise that things will make more sense in the chapters to come.

Chapter 2

"Are you sure that was all he said?"

After listening to their father's message, Dean had practically ordered Sam into the car and torn out of the car wash. He hadn't even wiped the remaining water spots from the Impala, so Sam knew that he was troubled.

"Do you want to listen for yourself?" Dean snapped and shoved his cell phone at his brother without taking his eyes off the road.

Sam hastily accepted the phone and glanced at Dean as an automated voice prompted him to "press one to listen". The older Winchester had his mouth set in a firm line and his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. He was mad, fighting mad, and for the first time since the brothers had reunited in search of their father, Sam wasn't the one ready to punch somebody in the face.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of John Winchester's voice in his ear.

"Dean, its me. You need to find a girl. That shouldn't be a problem for you. Her name is Emily. She's in Marietta. You have to find her, she's the key." He sounded cool and distant. Even the attempted joke about finding girls had fallen short. The words had been rushed, as if he didn't even have time to talk to his own son.

"Do you know her?" Sam asked quietly.

"Nope."

"So I guess we're going to Marietta."

"Yep."

They rode in silence for several minutes, both of them staring blankly through the windshield. Dean suddenly slapped the steering wheel hard with his palm, accidentally blowing the horn and alarming the driver in front of them.

"What the hell?" he growled. "How could he do this?"

Sam knew he was referring to their father, but couldn't think of anything to say that would be comforting. Instead, he just said ", Maybe this Emily is connected to the spirit."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean muttered half-heartedly and scrubbed a hand through his light brown hair.

"Maybe," Sam continued ", Dad's been watching the news for the past couple of weeks and he's come to the same conclusion that we have. Or who knows, he might be in Georgia, he might have talked to this girl."

"Or maybe she's hot and Dad thought I might like her," Dean said. "All I know is that I'm gonna turn this town upside-down until I find her, whoever she is."

Sam snorted a laugh through his nose.

"What?" Dean asked sharply.

"It's amazing the lengths you'll go to for a piece of tail."

"Shut up." But Dean's lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

It was ironic, Sam thought, it was usually Dean's role to joke his brooding brother out of a dark mood. He knew that what Dean felt towards their dad went way past frustration. John had practically abandoned his eldest son, leaving no clues to his whereabouts except for his prized journal and no choice but to turn to his baby brother for help. As much as Sam wanted to resent Dean for ripping him from his "normal" life, he couldn't. As much as he wanted to blame Dean for Jessica's death, he knew that it had been no one's fault, no one's but his own. If only he'd told Jess about his past, about his dreams…But it was too late now and he could never blame Dean for anything. His big bad brother, his rock, his protector and trainer had been scared and had turned to the only person in his life that he could trust; Sam.

Deciding that the mood in the car had brightened enough for some music, Sam leaned forward and flipped on the radio. He surfed through the channels until he found a local station that happened to be playing Metallica and settled back into his seat, hating the song but hoping it would appease Dean. As hoped, Dean was soon humming along with his favorite band, all traces of anger gone from his handsome face.

When the song ended, the DJ came on air in what Sam guessed was an unusually serious tone. "We pause now for an update from Channel Two Action News. Authorities have issued an amber alert for nineteen year old Cara Finch. She was last seen leaving her residence at Kennesaw State University shortly before her family was found dead in their Marietta home. Finch is five feet two inches, weighing approximately 130 pounds, and authorities have reason to believe she may have knowledge about her family's murder…" the DJ went on to describe the girl's car and then returned to normal programming.

Sam glanced at his brother who just shrugged. "Guess Emily will just have to wait."

-O-

With Dean behind the wheel, the boys reached the Marietta Square in little over an hour. It was a pretty town, Dean decided. The Square was essentially a miniature park full of flower beds, gazebos, and a locomotive inspired playground. An iron fountain stood in the center and clusters of people, some old, and some young, stood casting pennies into the pool at its base.

The streets that surrounded the square were lined with restaurants and antique shops. More happy locals strolled along the cobbled sidewalk, peeping in windows at items they had no intention of purchasing.

Must be nice Dean thought with envy as he watched a family cross in front of the car at a red light. The mother was carrying a shopping bag in one hand and grasped her son's hand with the other. The father had his daughter perched on his shoulders and she was smiling widely.

When the light changed, Dean punched the accelerator harder than intended and the car lurched into the intersection.

"Perhaps you'd like to add 'hit and run' to your list of offenses," Sam offered humorlessly.

"Perhaps," Dean answered and drove out of the square towards a small shopping center.

Thankfully, he found Kinko's without even trying, and after a quick stop to print up some fake IDs, Dean located the police station and whipped the Impala into a parking spot near the back. He pulled two leather badge wallets from the glove compartment and slipped in his and Sam's new MPD cards.

"Okay," Dean said as he stepped from the car and straightened his worn leather jacket. "I want to get the case files for this Cara Finch girl, then hit the library and compare this case to the other two."

Hit the library? Sam wondered. Since when was Dean Mr. Research? But he didn't have time to ponder his brother's urge to hit the books as he was forced to lengthen his stride to keep up with him. Sam might have longer legs, but Dean had that 'man on a mission' walk.

They entered the double glass doors and headed straight for the 'Employees Only' door that would lead to the detectives' bullpen.

"Excuse me, Sirs?" Dean cursed under his breath at the sound of the secretary's voice that floated from the front desk. But he smoothed his expression and calmly swung over to the desk.

The matronly secretary eyed Dean and Sam suspiciously through the two-inch bulletproof glass. "Can I help you gentlemen with something?"

Dean broke into one of his easygoing smiles that he knew most women found irresistible and flashed his fake badge. "I'm Detective Hagan, this is my partner; Stevens. We've just been called about the Finch case, Ma'am."

Sam held up his own badge for inspection, but withheld the smile since Dean's seemed to have no effect on the woman who pursed her painted lips doubtfully.

"You see," Dean went on ", we're from LaFayette and this Finch case looks too much like one we're working back home. We need to compare notes with the Marietta boys, rule out any possible coincidences."

Finally, she sighed and waved her plump hand towards the door. "Fine, come on in," she ordered and cast them a look that said _I'm watching you_.

"Oh, beg your pardon Ma'am, but which detectives have already been assigned to the case?" Dean asked, maintaining his smile. Sam had to admire his brother's superior brown-nosing skills.

"Williams and Davis."

After giving the secretary a nod of thanks, they hustled into the bullpen. It was a cluster of beat-up, metal desks, all littered with folders and post-its. One wall was host to a bulletin board with pin-ups of suspects and victims for all of the MPD's current cases. Against another wall were several file cabinets and a cheap table that held a coffeepot and some no doubt stale donuts. There were two detectives standing at the bulletin board, holding Styrofoam cups of joe.

"See if you can't find something," Dean whispered and ambled over towards the two real detectives.

While Dean stalled, Sam managed to locate the Finch case file on Detective Davis' desk. There was a copy machine in one corner of the cramped space and Sam made copies of everything in the manila folder, from interviews to crime scene photos.

"Well, thanks again fellas," Sam heard Dean announce loudly and knew that it was his cue to hurry it up. He quickly stuffed all of the papers back into their folder and slapped it on Davis' desk. Dean met him at the door and they tried to look casual as they passed the secretary once more.

Sam let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as soon as he was seated in the Impala. He knew that with every scam they pulled, they were closer to being caught. But he tried to remind himself that it was all for the greater good as his brother pulled out into Marietta's surprisingly gridlocked rush hour traffic.

"So, anything interesting Detective Stevens?" Dean asked lightly, steering in between a minivan and a school bus.

Sam ignored the joke and flipped through the grainy copies he'd made of the photos. Despite the poor resolution, the dark bruising was obvious around the victims' throats. "Look at this," he held up the picture for Dean to see.

"They were strangled, I already knew that, Genius," Dean glanced quickly at the picture before returning his eyes to the busy road.

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I mean look at how heavy the bruising is. No way a girl Cara's size was strong enough to strangle her father to death."

"So she was obviously possessed."

Sam nodded and continued thumbing through the papers in his lap. "Same thing goes for the woman in Knoxville, so it must be the same spirit," he reasoned aloud. Suddenly he froze as his eyes fell upon a sheet with interview notes. "Listen to this! The cops went to the college, since she was last seen at her dorm, and they talked to her roommate, Emily Russell."

Dean's eyebrows nearly climbed up into hairline and he narrowly avoided rear-ending the car in front of them. "No frickin' way!" Then he added quietly ", Thanks Dad."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Do you think it's too late?" Dean asked as he glanced at the Impala's radio clock. Traffic had been God-awful, and after some serious swearing, several impolite hand gestures, and a couple of brushes with death, the boys had arrived at their destination at 7:15.

Sam slowly pried his white-knuckled hands from the dash with a wince. He hadn't believed that it was possible to break so many traffic laws at once, but then again his brother _was_ always surprising him.

"No, I don't think so," he finally said, flexing his cramped fingers. "You're forgetting that this is a college, it's never too late."

"Good, you'll feel right at home frat boy. Now get your ass up." Dean had already climbed from the car in the length of time it took for Sam to catch his breath and was now rocking impatiently on his heels.

Sam glared at his brother as he unfolded his long frame from the passenger seat. _ One of these days _he thought to himself _you won't know when or how, but I _will _get my revenge_.

Dean, however, couldn't care less as to what his sibling was plotting as he checked his hair in the reflection of the Impala's gorgeous paint job. _The original paint job _he thought with satisfaction.

"Hey, I look alright?" he opened his arms and backed away from the car so that Sam could view the whole picture.

"I'm flattered Dean, really, but I don't swing that way."

Dean rolled his eyes and walked around the rear of the car to join his brother. "While you're opinion is _so_ important to me, I'm a _little_ more concerned about the college chicks we're gonna meet in there," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Dude, you know, _college_ chicks. I can't believe that in four years you didn't take complete advantage of the situation. I mean, all those girls…"

Dean let the sentence hang when he noticed the pained expression that flashed across Sam's face. It was nearly imperceptible: a twitch of his lips and a sudden glaze of his eyes. It was just a flicker, and was gone as soon as it had appeared. No one else would have noticed, no one except his big brother.

"Sammy, look I didn't mean…" Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed softly.

"Forget it," Sam said quickly. "Let's just find Emily."

Dean gave Sam's shoulder one more squeeze for good measure before turning towards the building before them.

Kennesaw State's student housing was unique; apartments rather than the cramped dorms found at most universities. The exteriors of the buildings were constructed of red brick and some sort of cousin of stucco, the latter material painted in black and gold, the school's colors. Not a pretty color combo for the architecture of the building, in Dean's mind, but so long as it was full of school spirit (and hot chicks) he guessed that was all that mattered.

Thankfully, the detective who'd taken Emily's statement had jotted down the apartment number: 207. Said detective, however, had failed to obtain any useful information from Miss Russell. The report read ", Cara would never do such a thing, I can't believe that she was involved."

The brothers, Sam toting the pilfered police file, crossed the parking lot full of Hondas and Saturns and entered the apartment building. The halls and stairwells were filled with students, laughing and joking as they headed out after a long day of class. Sam sighed. He had to admit that he missed it, college had been an escape for him, but that was over now and he tried to suppress his feelings.

"Remind me again why we took the stairs," Sam huffed as they reached their desired floor.

"Elevators make me uncomfortable," came Dean's response from behind him.

"Why?" Sam wiped tiny beads of perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.

"I don't know, all those people just lookin' at you…"

"I thought you liked to be watched," Sam tried to hide his smirk.

"Oh, Sam thinks he's all grown up and funny now," Dean shoved his brother roughly out of the stairwell and into the hall.

Sam regained his balance easily and managed to choke down his laughter.

"So," Dean was all business again. "That must be it," he pointed to one of the many identical doors, one with 207 printed on it.

As they approached the door, a peroxide blonde in a denim mini-skirt came around the corner, hefting several bags of groceries. She flipped her over-bleached hair over her shoulder and withdrew a key from her skirt pocket.

Noticing that she was having trouble with the bags, Dean stepped forward, turning on the smiles and charm. "Here, let me help with that."

Blondie looked up and saw the brothers for the first time. Her momentary shock was quickly replaced with a glaringly bright smile. "Oh, wow, thank you so much!" she gushed at Dean, who accepted the offered bags.

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing the girl wasn't paying him a bit of attention. She was too busy batting her fake eyelashes at his brother as she tried to unlock her apartment door. Wait a sec…she was opening apartment 207, maybe this was Emily!

Apparently, Dean wasn't blinded by the girl's fake, Barbie-ish qualities, and was thinking the same thing.

"I'm Dean," he offered. "I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, duh!" the girl pretended to smack herself in the side of the head as she opened the apartment door. "I'm Catherine, pleasure to meet you." Then she waved a hand for the boys to enter. "Come on in."

Ordinarily, Dean would have been thrilled to get an invite so quickly from a girl, but he was intent on finding this mystery girl. His dad, however deranged he might be, had his reasons for sending his eldest on a hunt for Emily, and Dean had no intention of letting him down.

With a sigh that sounded suspiciously like "Aw, damn," he followed Catherine into the apartment with Sam on his heels.

"What was that?" she asked, reclaiming the grocery bags and setting them on the counter.

"Oh…um…nice place," Dean said lamely, taking a quick look around the space.

It _was_ a nice apartment. There was a large living space that was decorated modestly; a recliner and tan sofa facing a big screen TV. The kitchen was cozy, but not cramped and had all the comforts of Mom and Dad's place: stove, microwave, coffee maker. Dean could see four doors; two one either side of the living area, that he suspected lead to bedrooms.

Catherine had stowed the groceries and now stood with her hands on the counter, leaning towards the brothers. "Okay, so you're Dean. Is this your friend?" she seemed to notice Sam for the first time.

"Brother, actually," Dean supplied. "This is Sam. In fact, we're friends with one of your roommates, Emily."

"No way!" Catherine exclaimed, eyes nearly popping out of her head.

"Um, yeah," Dean wasn't sure what to make of the girl's reaction. "We went to high school together."

Catherine's momentary shock seemed to have passed and she hissed a laugh through her teeth. "You guys are friends with Emily? We are talking about the same girl, right?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

She shook her head distastefully. "Love Ems to death, but I just can't see a guy like you going for a mousy little thing like her. I mean come on, she's still a _virgin_," she lowered her voice and leaned forward to emphasize the last word.

"Look," Sam, having taken all that he could of this exchange, finally forced his way into the conversation. "We need to talk to Emily, it's really important."

Dean shot his brother an "I was getting to that," look and Catherine folded her arms across her chest, all warmth and bubbliness suddenly gone.

"Emily's not here. She moved back in with her parents after Cara disappeared. Those two girls were just alike, all they cared about were their stupid horses."

From the girl's tone, Sam could tell that there definitely wasn't any love lost between the ex-roommates. "You wouldn't happen to have an address for the Russells, would you?"

-O-

"Why is it that every motel room across America smells like piss?" Dean inquired in all seriousness as he dropped his duffel bag on one of the two beds in the dark, cramped room.

Sam just sighed and shook his head as he kicked the door closed behind them. Sometimes he wondered which one of them was actually the older brother.

"I mean come on, can no one get any air freshener? Jesus!" Dean continued to rant as he began pulling clothes from his bag.

Sam set down his own bag and stretched. It had been a long day, and his back was happy to remind him of that fact. They'd obtained Emily Russell's address from a disappointed Catherine, she still refused that they would actually want to talk to the other girl, but decided that it was too late for an interview and had checked into the cheapest motel they could find.

"Dean, I'm gonna hit the shower first," Sam stated and collected a fresh pair of boxers before heading to the bathroom.

"Sure," Dean said absent-mindedly, laying his knife and revolver on the bed. He waited until the bathroom door was closed and heard the shower come on before he whipped out his cell phone. He sat, or rather perched on the edge of the bed and typed in 69 on his phone. The last call he'd received had been from his father.

__

Ring.

"Come on, come on, come on…"

__

Ring.

"Pick up the phone, pick up the damn phone…"

__

Ring.

He clenched his fist so tightly that his nails drew blood on his palm…

Then suddenly the other line picked up and Dean stopped breathing. "Longhorn Steakhouse, this is Amy…"

"You son of a bitch!" oxygen suddenly returned to Dean's lungs as he hurled the phone across the room. He dropped his head into his hands and sat there, staring at the mold green carpet, focusing on drawing in one shaky breath at a time.

Then, slowly, he rose to retrieve his phone. Surprisingly, it was still intact.

"Holy shit man, you gotta pull it together," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

He heard the click of the bathroom door open and spun to see his brother amble out, scrubbing his hair with a threadbare excuse for a towel. He'd been too busy pitching a fit to notice the water cut off.

"Everything alright?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, just dandy," Dean answered quickly, trying to add the humor he couldn't feel.

Sam's brown eyes were piercing: he knew. But he just shrugged. "Do you think Domino's will deliver here?"


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to all of my reviewers! And yes, just to clear up any confusion because of my pen name, I am a girl. The name relates to my favorite character from the movie Tremors…Anyway; I finally introduced Emily in this chapter, hope you like.

Chapter 4

October 25, 9:45 am. Hiram, Ga.

_One, two, three…_

Emily eased her hands up the black gelding's neck and rose in her stirrups. Traveler, named after Robert E. Lee's famous mount, propelled over the three-foot oxer, snapping up his knees and clearing the jump easily.

A small smile played across Emily's lips, the first one in days, as her horse landed neatly on the other side of the fence. She spurred him on towards the next jump, this one a roll-top covered with astro- turf.

_One, two, three_, she counted out the strides in her head, preparing for take-off. Just as before, Traveler soared over the fence and his rider took joy in the rush of the wind in her ears. Joy, an emotion she hadn't felt since before her best friend disappeared and the rest of the Finch's had been found dead. She still refused to believe that Cara could have been involved, but no one seemed to listen to her. The media just kept upping the alert levels in the search for her friend, her _innocent_ friend.

_One, two, three_. This time the jump was a spread: blue-striped poles spaced about four feet apart and three and half high. Emily could feel Traveler's muscles bunch and release as he sprung upwards, neck arching forward. But the horse had misjudged the spread and his hind legs caught the rear pole on the landing. The pole came crashing down, thudding loudly in the sand of the arena and shaking Emily from her trance-like state. When she rode, it was if the whole world slipped away and she was just a girl on a horse, without troubles and strife.

"Boo! Let's see someone who can really ride!" a male voice floated from the rail.

Emily rolled her eyes and steered Traveler, who was huffing from exertion, over to the fence that surrounded the arena.

Her friend Sean, the only friend she had left, stood with his arms draped over the fence. He turned his boyishly cute face up to her and winked. "Just kiddin', you're the best there ever was," he teased.

"That's right, and you'd better not forget it," she said as she unbuckled her helmet and pulled it off. _Yuck, helmet hair_ she thought. In a vain attempt to revive her dark brown locks, she began finger-combing her hair.

"How are you holding up?" Sean asked, donning a warmly concerned expression.

Emily gave a small smile and shrugged. "Fine. Everything's been going great," she lied.

Sean knitted his brows. "Whatever. Ems, it's me, you can tell me anything."

She sighed loudly as she swung her right leg over the saddle and dismounted gracefully. "It's been tough, you know? Cara and I were like sisters." She stroked Traveler's sleek shoulder absentmindedly and the gelding turned to nudge her. "Alright, we're going inside," she said to her impatient steed.

Sean reached over the fence and poked at the horse's nose, not really paying attention to his actions. "Hey, I wasn't exactly Cara's biggest fan, but you like her; therefore, I like her."

"Oh Sean, you're so sweet."

This time he rolled his eyes and turned to walk along the fence as Emily exited the arena. "I meant that you're a good judge of character, so there's gotta be some good inside that black heart of her's somewhere."

Emily grimaced. "You know, most people say the same thing about me. I guess we're just two bitches in a pod."

"Hey," Sean paused, forcing Emily to duck under Traveler's neck to look at him. "You are _not_ a bitch. You just don't like to let people in. Lucky for me, you decided to open up to me and I can't imagine not having you as a friend."

She smiled, not a big smile, just a little close-lipped "thank you".

Sean returned the smile, then replaced it with his usual goofy grin. "I'm going for hot chocolate, you want?"

-O-

Dean yawned behind the wheel of the Impala; he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He and Sam had had a dinner of greasy, supreme pizza while they watched C.O.P.S. and speculated how they would definitely be the subjects of the most interesting episode to date. Thankfully, Sam hadn't mentioned Dean's temper tantrum because Dean had not intended to share anyway. He knew that he'd been irrational, but he thought that John might actually respond this time. When he'd heard some hostess answer…well, at least his Dad had enjoyed a good meal recently.

But Dean still hadn't been able to stop stewing over it and had slept fewer hours than Sam. "So, how much further?" he asked Sam who was hunched over a Georgia map.

"Not long, I don't reckon," Sam did his best redneck imitation. They were, after all, in Hiram.

Dean didn't respond and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"What?" Sam asked, folding up the map.

"I just hope this is it," Dean said lamely. "We've been all across this state the past two days."

"Actually, just two counties," Sam corrected.

"Oh, pardon me Christopher Columbus."

Sam just shook his head. Being a Winchester meant you could never catch a break, even over something as stupid as geography. Then he suddenly caught sight of a white, four-board fence ahead. "Slow down, this must be the farm Catherine told us about."

Dean slowed the Impala to a crawl while they examined the expansive piece of property before them. The fence ran along the road for five hundred or so feet and then turned up a driveway flanked by a brick sign. The sign read "Rosewood" in flowing, gold script and was landscaped fittingly with rose bushes. The boys could see a low, brown building some distance up the drive surrounded by acres and acres of rolling, green grass.

"Yep, Rosewood," Sam affirmed. "That would mean that the next driveway is the Russell home."

The next driveway was long and ran parallel to Rosewood's white fence. The house was a rectangular ranch, yellow with green shutters and a rocking chair front porch that spanned the entire front. There were two cars parked outside of the garage: a Taurus and a Yukon.

Dean parked behind the Taurus and opened his door, wincing at the squeak of the hinges. _One of these days I'll finally oil that_ he thought as Sam climbed out as well. They walked down the sidewalk and climbed the three stairs up onto the porch. The Porch was even larger than it had appeared from the road. There was a swing off to the right and a row of three rocking chairs off to the left, the picture of southern hospitality.

Dean knocked twice and waited, popping his knuckles uneasily.

"Nervous?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at his brother who had his hands dropped calmly at his sides and followed suit. Was he really nervous? The unshakeable Dean Winchester? No, just eager to get on with the case, he reasoned.

They heard the deadbolt click and the door opened about six inches, revealing half of a man's face. He wasn't extremely tall, and hid bright green eyes behind rimless glasses. From what Dean could see, he guessed the man to be about fifty.

"Can I help you with something?" the man asked, his voice immediately suspicious.

"Are you James Russell?" Dean asked, levering a cop's authority into his voice.

"Yes, I'm James," the man answered, narrowing his eyes.

"Sir, I'm Detective Hagan, this is my partner, Stevens," he flashed the fake badge and Russell had to open the door wider to look at it. "We need to speak with your daughter, Emily."

Russell folded his arms across his chest in the now open doorway. "What's this about."

"Sir, she's not in any trouble. We have a few questions about her friend, Cara Finch." Dean shrugged, trying to look casual.

"Emily's already talked to the police."

_Damn you_ Dean thought. _Why can't you cooperate?_ "The case has been reassigned and it would be very helpful if we could obtain a fresh statement." He threw in an easy grin, hoping it might have a better effect on Russell than it had on the MPD secretary.

Russell sighed and looked side to side, working things over in his mind. Finally he said ", Emily's not home now."

Dean couldn't stifle the frustrated sigh that seeped out from between his teeth.

"But," Russell continued ", you might catch her next door. She went riding this morning."

"Oh, that's great. Thanks Mr. Russell," Dean tried to regain his professionalism after his little sigh slip-up, and succeeded.

"Thank you for your time, Sir," Sam chimed in as they turned from Emily's father and began their descent of the porch steps. He could feel Russell's eyes on them the whole way back to the car.

-O-

Dean pulled up to the low, brown building, that proved to be a barn, next to the only other vehicle in the small lot. He eyed the red, regular cab Silverado Z71 appreciatively. Sure, it wasn't exactly his style, what with its slight lift and knobby, off-road tires, but it was still a pretty piece of machinery, and he figured it purred quite nicely judging by the dual tailpipes.

"I've never known a girl to drive something like that," Sam commented, gesturing at the truck.

"Somehow I've got the feeling we're not dealing with your average girl," Dean said as they strode around the front of the building.

It was a beautiful barn. The stalls were constructed of tongue and groove paneling and each one was hung with a matching blue and burgundy blanket. There were three wash stalls in the front with rubber-matted floors and crossties to secure a horse. A beautiful black horse was standing in the middle wash stall, striking the ground impatiently with a front hoof.

All of this was completely lost on Dean who stood transfixed by the girl attending to the horse. She wasn't tall, probably only 5'1", and sported a curvaceous figure. Legs that were long for someone her height and a round backside was made obvious by her skin-tight, black riding pants. Her waist was tiny, but breasts definitely were not. She was tying back her long, dark hair into a ponytail as she scolded the horse. "Stop it Trav!" she commanded, and the horse suddenly stopped, swiveling its head toward where the boys stood in the doorway.

"What is it, Buddy?" she asked, turning to glance in the same direction as her mount. She froze when she caught sight of the two men standing there, then quickly finished off her ponytail and tugged down the hem of her sweater. "Can I help you?" she asked, still looking startled.

Dean's mouth fell open but he just couldn't seem to find words. He was staring at her face. She had slightly rounded cheeks set off with just a touch of blush, and her eyes, wow, her eyes. They glittered like twin hazel fires, full of so many emotions. _Mousy? Where did that Catherine girl get off?_

Sam quickly noticed his brother's incapacitated state and took the lead. "Yeah, we're looking for Emily Russell. You wouldn't happen to know her, would you?" he asked with the charm of a boy -scout. He always seemed to have a way of putting people at ease.

Apparently, Emily was not one of those people. "I'm Emily Russell," she said, eyeing them warily. "Are you Sean's friends?"

Dean suddenly seemed to have remembered how to use his vocal cords and entered the conversation, well, if you could call it that. "No Ma'am, we're detectives. I'm Hagan, and this is Stevens. We were wondering if we might be able to ask you a few questions." He gave her a hopeful grin.

"I already talked to Detective Williams and Davis yesterday," she said, and folded her arms across her chest.

"I know," Dean widened his smile. "But we just got assigned this morning and need to obtain an additional statement."

She cocked her head and raised a single eyebrow. "That wouldn't be a problem, if you guys were _real_ detectives."

Dean's face fell slack as if the girl had just slapped him. He thought he'd pulled off the cop thing pretty well, it had worked on Mr. Russell. He recalled what he'd said to Sam moments ago ", Not your average girl," no kidding.

"But," Emily continued ", I know that you're just jerking me around. So you can go home and tell all your fraternity brothers to…"

"Whoa! Sorry, it's okay, you caught us," Dean held up his hands in defeat. "We're not cops, but we're not frat boys either. I'm Dean and this is my brother Sam, we're freelance journalists."

"Journalists?" Emily eyed his ratty jeans and T-shirt skeptically.

"Yeah," Sam added. "We've been writing a piece on the LaFayette murder and when we heard about the Finch case, we decided to incorporate it into our research."

"Well, how did you find out about me?"

This girl wasn't falling for anything. "We're not exactly on best terms with the cops, so we had to do a little digging," Dean felt his smile return. "You know, the illegal kind."

Her hardened expression finally softened, finding it hard to stare down Dean's charm. "Well, I guess that would be okay."

"We've read the statement you gave the police, and we think you're probably right about Cara," Dean figured she might open up a little more easily if she thought he was on her side.

"But," Emily continued.

Dean knew that "but" was never good.

"I've gotta get to class in an hour…"

The sudden roar of an engine drowned out the rest of her sentence. Dean glanced out of the window over his shoulder to see a truck that could have been the evil twin of Emily's truck pull up beside his Impala. Twin because it was a red, regular cab Silverado, and evil because it was wicked. Where Emily's truck was designed for off-roading, this one was made for the street. It had deeply tinted windows, chrome door handles, twenty-inch wheels and low profile tires. A young man he guessed to be about Sam's age climbed from the cab and walked around to the front of the barn.

"Hey Ems, I got you a large," the man called as he entered the barn, a steaming cup in each hand. He paused when he saw Sam and Dean. "Oh, uh, hey there," he offered.

"Sean, this is Dean, and that's Sam; they're journalists," Emily quickly introduced. "Dean, Sam, meet my friend Sean."

"So you must be the boyfriend of this lovely young lady," Dean said with a nod towards the newcomer.

"Um…no," Sean's cheeks blossomed with an obvious blush and Dean noticed Emily shifting her feet a little uncomfortably.

"Sorry, I'm always puttin' my foot in my mouth," Dean quickly tried to recover the situation and was relieved when Sean just shrugged it off.

"Back to what I was saying," Emily said, pulling the attention away from her now embarrassed friend. "I've gotta get to class and I can't give you an interview right now."

"Maybe tomorrow?" Dean asked hopefully, he just couldn't let her slip away so easily.

She frowned slightly. "Maybe when I get back from the car show."

"Hey," Sean spoke up. "Do you guys want to come with us tomorrow?"

Emily shot Sean a deadly glance, but Dean ignored it. "You're going to a car show?" he asked innocently.

"Yeah, just right up the road here," Sean said. "You could talk to Ems and while you're at it, you might as well enter that car of yours. That is one sweet ride, man."

Dean beamed at the praise of his baby and shot Sam a glance. Sam just gave a shrug with his mouth as if to say _oh, what the hell_. Dean could see Emily scowling out of the corner of his eye as he asked ", What time should we be here?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After agreeing to meet Emily and Sean at noon the next day, Sam and Dean had headed back into Marietta to hit the library. As it turns out, Dean's enthusiasm for research the day before had been short-lived and he was now staring blankly at the computer screen in front of him.

"Why do I even bother?" he asked flatly, leaning his head against the arm he'd propped onto the table.

"With what?" Sam asked from across the table at his own computer. The younger Winchester was scrolling through countless links to news articles, searching for any murders similar to those they were currently following.

"Why do I bother with research," Dean sighed. "You always find what we're looking for and I end up wasting my time."

"And what would you propose doing with said time?"

"Oh, I don't know," Dean leaned back in his chair to peer at the group of giggling girls sitting at a nearby table. "I could find something."

"Here," Sam shoved the photocopied Finch case file across the table at his brother. "Look through and see if you find anything that I missed."

Dean scowled as he snatched up the folder. "You're always cramping my style, man."

Sam's smirking face peered around his computer. "Oh, you mean like earlier today? When you were drooling like an idiot at Emily?" He had to duck out of the way as his brother chucked one of the library's pens at him. "It was cute, Dean, really," he chuckled.

Still scowling, Dean opened up the folder and began spreading its contents on the table in front of him. There were the interviews with Emily and the neighbor who'd called in the murder, the ME's report, the photos…

Dean held up the photo of Cara's father, Simon Finch. The man had the same deep, purplish bruising around his throat as his wife and younger daughter. It would have taken a big man to choke the life out of Simon Finch, but the hand-shaped bruises were small, much too small for a man. They were definitely made by a woman, in this case, his daughter. Slowly, an idea began to inch its way around Dean's skull, then his mind suddenly grasped it in an epiphany.

"Sam!" he leaned forwards and smacked the tabletop to get his brother's attention. A librarian that was shelving books somewhere behind him shushed him loudly with an admonition about being quiet in libraries. With an exasperated eye roll, Dean rose from his chair and leaned closer. "Sam!" he whispered this time.

Sam was startled to find his brother's nose about two inches from his own when he turned to look at him. "What?" he asked, pulling back slightly.

"I just had a thought."

"Does it involve Emily," he asked innocently.

"Yes…well no, maybe…shut up asshole! Listen, I just got to thinking, what if we're not looking at a spirit here? Look at this picture," he held up the photo of Simon Finch's bruises.

"So?"

"So we're assuming that Cara did this, but she was possessed."

"Yeah. What are you getting at Dean?"

"How many spirits do you know that can give a girl like Cara the strength to strangle her father? This superhuman strength is characteristic of a…."

"Demon," Sam finished, jumping on board Dean's train of thought. "You think a demon's been possessing these people? It would make sense."

"Of course it makes sense, when am I ever wrong?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Dean shrugged and settled back into his chair. He shuffled the papers back into the folder and resumed his computer research with new interest. Hopefully, he could find a demon that liked to possess and strangle.

"I've got something," Sam whispered excitedly and waved for Dean to come around the table. Dean obliged and leaned over Sam's shoulder, one hand on the table and one on the back of Sam's chair. "Look," Sam tapped the computer screen to indicate the headline he'd pulled up.

The headline read _College student murdered_ and there was a black and white photo of a smiling young man below.

"It says," Sam began to summarize ", that twenty one year old Daniel McPherson was found dead in his apartment, strangled to death. He lived with his wife, only been married a couple of months, and she was still missing when the article was printed."

"Sounds just like our guy," Dean said grimly. "What's the date?"

"Seventy six," Sam answered and continued skimming the article. "He was a junior at the University of Tennessee…let's see…whoa!" his eyes widened.

"What?" Dean leaned closer to the screen.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "The police interviewed his best friend, Simon Finch."

"So there's a connection," Dean nodded in grim satisfaction.

"Yeah, and I bet there's a tie to the woman in Richmond, the guy in Knoxville, and Bill Freemont too," Sam said.

Their thoughts were interrupted as the librarian who'd been so quick to chastise Dean turned up the volume on the once silent TV suspended from the ceiling. Dean was about to make a rather rude comment about being hypocritical, but paused when he heard what the news reporter was saying.

"We take you now to Kennesaw State University where authorities have just confirmed that the body found on campus this morning is indeed that of Bill Freemont…"

The brothers met eyes and wordlessly gathered their coats.

-O-

When they arrived at KSU, the boys were met with the sight of a KSU patrol car, a Cobb County police car, and a coroner's van all parked in front of the apartment building where Cara and Emily had lived. There was a landscaped area by the side doors of the building that was roped off with yellow crime scene tape and there was a crowd of students gathering in curiosity. Dean searched, but couldn't find a detective's cruiser and knew they had only minutes to catch a glimpse at the body.

He whipped out his fake badge and began squeezing his way through the crowd with several commanding 'excuse me's. He could hear the whisperings of the students around him.

"Who is it?"

"Is it really a body?"

"I heard it was a suicide…"

Dean reached the tapeline and flashed his badge at the uniformed officer who was controlling the crowd. "Just got the call," he said by way of greeting and motioned towards Sam. Sam obediently showed his own badge and the officer waved them under the line. Dean nodded a thanks and he and Sam made their way to where the ME was crouched down between two holly bushes.

The medical examiner wiped his brow with the back of his hand and looked up at the brothers' approach. "Are you guys the detectives?" he asked.

"Yep," Dean said and crouched down to join the older man. "What have we got here?"

The gray haired ME sighed as he indicated the life-less Bill Freemont at their feet. "I'm not exactly sure. There are no wounds, no abrasions of any kind. There could be head trauma, but I won't know until I take X-rays. My first guess though," he paused to lift one of Freemont's eyelids and flashed his penlight in the exposed eye. The pupils were dilated and the whites were slightly blood shot. "This is some kind of drug overdose."

"Yeah, most likely," Dean said, knowing otherwise. The scent of sulfur hung heavy in the air, confirming his suspicions. They were definitely dealing with a demon here.

"Dean," he felt the toe of one of his brother's New Balances thump him in the back and turned quickly. There was a man in a suit talking to the uniform at the tapeline and Dean spotted the unmarked, white Crown Victoria beyond the crowd.

"Shit," he muttered and rose to his feet. The man, obviously a detective, glanced in their direction with a confused expression. "Well Sammy, time to see how fast those stork legs of your are."

Leaving behind a puzzled medical examiner, the boys bolted around towards the back of the building and heard sudden shouts coming from the cops. Sam's 'stork legs' proved to be very fast and Dean hated to admit that his shorter ones were being outdistanced. They managed to duck into a small alcove in the rear of the building and waited while the cops went charging past.

Dean leaned against the wall, pulling in quick huffs of breath.

"What's the matter, too fast for ya?" Sam asked.

"Shut up," Dean grinned, but still punched his brother in the arm. He then straightened and peeked out of their hiding spot. "Come on, we've got work to do."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

October 26, 12:09 PM. Hiram, Ga.

"I still don't understand why you invited them," Emily curled her legs underneath her as she stared out the passenger window of Sean's truck.

Her friend chuckled. "They needed to interview you, and this way, I'll be there to make sure they don't pull anything stupid."

She smiled reluctantly. "I appreciate it, but I can take care of myself, you know."

Sean returned the smile. "Well, it wasn't all about you. They do have a totally bitchin' car."

"Always with the cars," Emily rolled her eyes and gave him a slap on the arm. She could hear Sean reply laughingly, but she wasn't really paying attention. She was looking at the black Impala behind them in the side mirror. No way was she falling for the journalist scam, but there was something about the two mysterious young men, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. They had searched her out for some reason, and she was going to find out why…

-O-

"Dean, I gotta say, I'm not sure this is such a great idea."

Dean tore his eyes away from the blazing red truck in front of them to shoot Sam a placating glance. "Sam, if we're gonna get anything out of Emily, we've gotta make sure she feels comfortable with us. Trust me Little Bro, I know these things."

Sam mirrored Dean's look before turning to glance out the window. He was surprised to see the bustling strip of restaurants and businesses in Hiram, he'd thought this was just some hick town. His mind wondered briefly at the booming city before returning his thoughts their encounter with the Bill Freemont. Well, the _late_ Bill Freemont…

"I wish we could have heard the autopsy report on Freemont," Sam sighed, bouncing his palm on his knee.

"You know what it would have said," Dean responded. "The coroner was probably all freaked out because the guy's insides were literally boiled. I'll bet he screamed like a bitch," he smiled at the thought.

Sam doubted it, the screaming part, but knew that Dean was correct about Freemont's cause of death. The demon had apparently used the man as a host until he was simply all used up, bodily function exhausted beyond repair. When Freemont ceased to be an acceptable host, the demon would have jumped into the next person available. In this case, Cara Finch.

"So we're agreed that this demon has some sort of purpose, some reason its going after these particular people," Sam stated, searching for confirmation.

"Oh yeah," this time Dean sighed. "I just have no idea why." But he soon perked up when he noticed the sign for Hooter's looming in the distance and Sean's blinker kicked on in front of them. A small smile played across Dean's lips as he turned into the parking lot. "Man, there's nothing like cars and Hooter's girls."

"You _would_ say that," but Sam's tone was light as he pretended to scold his brother.

The car show was larger than either of them had expected, it had spilled over from the Hooter's lot into that of the movie theatre next door. There were cars and trucks of all ages, styles, and colors.

Dean followed Sean and parked in the theatre lot, next to an old but well kept Cadillac. It was teal and white, huge fins and chrome sparkling. Dean climbed out of his own ride and used his shirtsleeve to wipe a splattered bug from the windshield. "I just washed the damn thing," he muttered.

"Yeah, they always seem to lay in wait for clean cars."

Dean looked up to see that Emily had walked over from Sean's truck and was now standing before him. Boot-cut jeans replaced the riding pants from the day before and she wore a black, leather motorcycle jacket over a T-shirt. Her noticed that her arms were crossed, but not in an unfriendly manner. She looked slightly apprehensive, afraid that someone decide to dislike her.

"The bugs, I mean," she said by way of further explanation. Then, to Dean's surprise, she unfolded her arms and extended her right hand. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday, I wasn't very nice to you. Can we start over?"

A near sheepish smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and Dean couldn't help but accept her handshake. She had a firm grip, not the limp noodle thing he'd expected from a girl her size.

"Absolutely," he gave her an easy smile and her relief was visible. "So, you think you're ready for that interview? I promise I won't take up your whole afternoon."

Sean chose that moment to crank up his sound system and the sub-woofers blasted out 50Cent's _Candy Shop_. Dean could feel the pavement throbbing beneath their feet and was glad when Emily waved him away from her friend. Sean had a ridiculous grin on his face as three guys approached his truck to ask about his speakers.

"Man, I hate that rap stuff," Dean commented as they crossed the parking lot to Hooter's. He cast a glance over his shoulder and caught Sam's eye. His brother nodded his understanding and ambled off to check out the row of souped up rice rockets.

"Some of it's okay," Emily shrugged, recrossing her arms.

Making a mental note to never discuss music with this girl, he cleared his throat lightly and began his "interview". "So, tell me about Cara."

Emily stopped in front of a '68 Mustang fastback and stared at the car's brilliant green paint. He could tell that she was working things over in her mind, trying to decide what to tell him. "She and I met three years ago," she said finally. "She moved down from Tennessee and started boarding her horse at Rosewood, that's where we met."

"Did you guys just hang out at the barn?"

"At first, but we really hit it off and started hanging out on weekends and going to movies with groups from school." Emily's sweetheart lips turned down in a slight frown. "No one else I know likes Cara too well, she can be kind of snotty. In fact, I'm amazed we got along so well."

"You must be pretty tolerant, then," Dean tried to catch her eye, but Emily continued to stare a hole through the Mustang's hood.

"Maybe," she nearly whispered. She shook her head and the movement seemed to erase any traces of emotion she was about to show. "I also think," she began much more strongly this time. "That my dad had something to do with it, our friendship I mean."

"Why's that?" Dean turned and leaned back against the car so that he could see Emily's face more clearly.

"One night Cara came over for dinner and Dad realized that he'd gone to college with her dad…"

"What?" Dean asked rather sharply, brows knitting together.

Emily met his gaze for the first time and appeared surprised at his sudden intensity. "They used to friends, our fathers. They wanted to catch up on old times and our families went to dinner together alot."

Dean hadn't expected this, this connection to the demon. How many people were involved? He knew that Finch and McPherson had a college connection and now both were dead. If Russell was also connected, then he would most likely end up dead and Emily…

Emily didn't seem to be aware of the fact that her life was in grave danger and was staring at Dean with confusion. "Are you okay?"

"Um, yeah…yeah I'm fine," he tried not to sound shaken as he quickly rose and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. "Look," he lowered his voice. "I'm not trying to alarm you, but you need to keep a close eye out for anything…strange."

"What are you talking about?" her head cocked and he knew that she would never believe him. Well, he had to try anyway.

"Emily, something's going on and I can't tell you what right now, but it's bad. I need you to promise me that you won't talk to Cara if you see her," he bowed his head down towards hers, eyes flashing in earnest.

She took a step back. "Who _are _you?"

"Me? I'm the only one who can save your friend before it's too late," he could feel his brother's presence and looked up to see Sam approaching them, looking as if he'd had enough shop talk to last a lifetime. "Well, me and my brother," he told her.

"So I'm just supposed to trust you?Are you aware that you are complete strangers? You could be axe murderers or serial rapists for all I know!" Emily exclaimed. "Besides, what are you talking about saving Cara?"

Dean seemed completely baffled by Emily's outburst and turned to Sam for help. "It's okay, Emily," Sam said reassuringly. "Why don't we go inside, get somthing to eat, and we'll explain everything."

-O-

There was an Italian restaurant next door to Hooter's and its parking lot offered a clear view of the young man and woman talking across the hood of a gorgeous Mustang. They could have been a couple on a date, or two car enthusiasts who'd met to discuss cross pipes and glass packs.

But John Winchester knew differently. He knew that his eldest son was speaking with the girl he'd sent him to find, the girl he'd found himself but couldn't help. No, he had other, more pressing matters to deal with.

He could see the girl's face, her mix of confusion and distrust. It was the same expression he'd seen on the face of every innocent he'd ever helped. They face they made when you tried to tell them the truth. He knew that Dean hadn't told her the entire story, he didn't have enough information to tell her just yet. But he was going to fix that; he was going to help his boys one last time.

Boys…he rotated the package in his rough hands as he watched his youngest join Dean and the girl. He hadn't talked to Sammy in so long, he wasn't sure he could face him after all this time. Maybe one day he would get the chance, maybe one day in the not too distant future. But that day was not today.

He spotted the Impala all the way across the lot from his sons. It was unguarded. He would slip across to the car like a shadow, unnoticed by anyone, and leave the package for Dean. Then he would be gone again, and the younger generation would have to figure out the rest for themselves. After all, that was how he had raised them.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Thanks as always to my reviewers, I really appreciate all of the support! I know this chapter is kind of short and crappy, but it's been a long week. Things will improve in the next chapter.

Chapter 7

"Now let me get this straight," Emily paused to take a long pull on her Diet Coke, knowing the caffeine in the drink would only put her more on edge. "You two are hunting the guy who murdered the Finches?"

"Guy, thing, same difference," Dean said under his breath from his seat beside the girl. The three of them were seated at a booth in Hooter's, an untouched basket of wings steaming on the table.

Sam shot his brother a dirty look. "I know it sounds a little crazy, but you have to believe us," he leaned closer to Emily, setting his forearms on the table.

"Then why do you think I'm in danger?"

Dean twirled his beer bottle in his fingers, staring at the brown glass as he answered. "Two weeks ago, a man in Richmond disappeared after his family was strangely murdered. A week and a half ago, a woman in Knoxville did the same. Two days ago, Bill Freemont's family ended up dead. Now, the Finches are dead and your friend is missing."

Emily had a 'so what' face as she glanced from one brother to another. "But that _still_ doesn't explain why my life is in peril," she said calmly, as though explaining the obvious to two children.

"There's a connection between all of the families," Dean went on just as calmly. "At least one member went to UT in seventy six. In your family, that person is your dad. Your entire family may be in danger because this 'murderer' doesn't like leaving any survivors."

Emily's brow creased with worry. "Do you have any idea who could be doing this?"

Dean sighed. How could he explain this? Tell her about a psycho demon with a really serious grudge against Tennessee fans? Nope, just have to lie. "We think we have an idea, but we can't tell you," he said, turning to look at her.

She folded her arms. "Why not? Wouldn't it be beneficial if I could recognize my attacker?"

Too damn many questions! Dean wanted to scream. Why couldn't Emily have been one of those gullible bimbos who hung on every word he said? No, Dad had to send him after one of the clever ones.

Thankfully, Sam saved him from answering. " You're just going to have to trust on this," Sam's deep eyes were earnest as they searched Emily's face.

The girl looked back and forth between the two brothers, switching from those puppy-dog-brown eyes to the fierce hazel ones. Finally, she sighed deeply, like a tiny brunette balloon deflating before them. "Fine," she said, resting her elbows on the table and folding her hands beneath her chin. "Although it goes against my better judgement, I believe you guys."

Dean's relief was evident as he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and hastily scribbled down his cell number. "Here," he said, placing the paper on the table in front of Emily. "I want you to call me if you notice anything out of the ordinary. I mean _anything._ If your mom changes ketchup brands, I wanna be the first to know."

Emily chuckled softly and tucked the phone number into the pocket of her jeans. "You take this whole fake detective routine pretty seriously."

Dean exchanged a look with Sam across the table. If only she knew just how seriously…

-O-

It was after two when they headed back to the Impala and the car show was still in full swing. There were now three other cars that had joined Sean in a battle of sound systems and Dean could hardly stand the rivaling hip-hop beats that seemed to make the air vibrate. He threw a wave at Sean, who nodded in return, and he and Sam climbed into the car.

"How do people listen to that? It's just noise!" Dean ranted as he backed the Impala out of its parking space and threw it into drive.

"You know, there are many people who say the same thing about the crap you listen to," Sam said with a grin.

In response, Dean cranked up the volume and blasted his brother with heavy metal.

They spent the rest of the afternoon trying and failing to gain any further information on all of the victims. Everyone from Freemont to McPherson had outstanding grades in college and none of them were registered in any of the same clubs or school organizations. They knew that there was a vital piece of information they were missing, but had no clue as to what was.

"You know," Sam tried to avoid yawning as he climbed from the car in front of their motel. "I'm starting to wonder if we're gonna be able to stop this thing."

"What are you talking about?" Dean raised his eyebrows, daring his brother to say anything more. "This is our job, this is what we do, Sam. We always get the bastard in the end and you know that."

Sam sighed, Dean's response had been quick and was intended to put an end to the conversation, but had come out sounding more like a plea. He didn't want to let Dad down, and Sam knew it. "I know we do, Dean. But face it, we're stuck right now."

Dean jerked open the back door and reached in for his duffel bag. "You think I don't know that?" his voice become impatient. "You don't have to…"

"What? What is it?" Sam asked, trying to peer across the roof at his suddenly silent brother.

Dean's spiky hair appeared, followed by his perplexed face. He had something in his hands that was wrapped in newspaper and he set it on top of the roof. Sam watched as he unwrapped the package and saw the post-it note that threatened to blow away in the breeze. Dean snatched up the note and scanned it quickly before handing it to Sam.

_Dean – I know this isn't much, but it's important. It was under the girl's bed, but don't ask her because she doesn't know about it. It was her father's_.

Sam looked up from the note to see Dean grimacing. "Dad," Dean muttered and his Adam's apple bobbed so hard that it looked as if it might tear through the skin.

"Well, what is it," Sam asked quietly.

Dean sniffed loudly and picked up what their father had left them, a book. It was old, the edges of the pages were tattered and yellowed, and it was bound in leather. "The Servant's Prayerbook," Dean turned the cover towards Sam so he could read the title as well.

Sam reached across the car and took the book. It was heavy and the cover was worn smooth from years of handling. "Let's get inside and see what we can pull up on the laptop about this thing."

Dean shook his head and flipped Sam the room key. "See what _you _can find, I've got someplace I need to go."


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Yes, I completely made up the demon and the book, but it works for my story.

Chapter 8

Sam sighed and rolled his head from side to side, trying to work out the kinks. It was just like his brother to rush off on some mysterious errand and leave him with the boring job. But he'd had just about enough cryptic Winchester bullshit for one night. First their dad leaves some old hymnal, or whatever it was, and then Dean takes off without any explanation.

He flopped down on the floral spread of his twin bed and propped _The Servant's Prayerbook_ on his raised knees. Upon closer examination, the book was actually older than he'd first speculated and a fine mist of dust puffed up into his face as he opened it. He coughed and waved a hand to disperse the particles, having trouble keeping the heavy volume open with one hand.

After the dust settled, Sam tried to read the elaborate print on the first page. The ink had faded over time and he shifted positions on the bed so he could hold it closer to the light.

At the top of the page were the words "We are the servants of Cristolokar, and live only to serve his purpose."

"What the hell?" he mused aloud. He scanned down to the bottom of the page and read the date: 1692. It was going to be a very long night.

-O-

Dean wasn't sure why he'd felt compelled to return to the Russell home, but he'd been pulled, urged by some invisible force to watch out for Emily. Maybe it was because his father had left another clue, like this was some twisted guessing game that he was losing. Maybe Sam was right, maybe they couldn't stop this thing. But he couldn't accept that, he couldn't live with himself if he did.

But none of his speculation explained why he parked his car down the street and crept under the cover of darkness to the Russell's' front porch. He'd moved slowly and silently, testing every board on that porch for squeaks before he rested his full weight on it. He'd found Emily's window at the far left end of the porch and had settled in one of the white rocking chairs. Emily's window was open, despite the chill of the night, and the moonlight fell across her bed, illuminating her sleeping form. He just sat there, _like her damn guardian angel _he thought.

He let his eyes wander from the window to the yard. It was dark and quiet, just like the house, and the leaves of the trees brushed together in the light breeze. Two glistening specks, the eyes of a fox or raccoon, shone from a clump of bushes. Dean raised an imaginary rifle and took aim between specks. He grinned slightly ", Gotcha."

A sudden noise from inside the house caught his attention. It had been a rustling, a fluttering almost, and then silence. He looked through the window and noticed that Emily's bed was now empty, but the rest of the room was an expanse of blackness.

_Where the hell did she go? _

His unasked question was answered by the soft, yet distinct click that could only bemade by cocking a hammer. "Whoa! Emily, don't shoot," he whispered in earnest.

"Dean?" Seemingly from out of nowhere, Emily stepped into the beam of light that fell across her room and landed on her bed. She was in her pajamas, a tank top and boy-short underwear, and held a 44-magnum lever action rifle. Her skin seemed eerily pale in the moonlight, but her eyes glittered even more brightly because of it.

Dean was stunned; he couldn't imagine a sweet, innocent girl with a gun tucked under her bed, let alone a 44. He realized he was sitting in the rocking chair with his hands in the air like an idiot and quickly tried to adopt a casual pose. "Nice outfit," he cracked lightly.

Emily gasped, and ducked back into the shadows. Seconds later she reappeared, wearing a robe much to Dean's dismay, and had the rifle slung over her shoulder on its strap. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Where did you get that gun?"

"I asked you first."

Dean sighed. "I just, wanted to make sure you're okay, I had a bad feeling."

"Hmmm, well I have a bad feeling that you're stalking me. Start talking."

Dean grinned, his white teeth glowing in the dark. "Not fair, you didn't answer my question."

Emily pulled the rifle from her shoulder and placed the butt on the floor so that Dean could only see the tip of the muzzle. "Dad gave it to me. He taught me how to shoot, said I needed to know how to defend myself." She arched an eyebrow. "Now please tell me why you're sitting on my front porch."

Feeling fairly confident that she wasn't going to shoot him, Dean scooted the chair closer to her window. "I really did come to check on you, I don't think you're safe."

She let out a single "ha-ha" of a laugh and hefted her gun. "I promise you I know how to use this thing."

Dean leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and licked his lips. "You probably won't believe what I'm about to tell you, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. The thing that killed all those people, the thing Sam and I are chasing, it's probably coming after your family, and the bullets in that gun won't do a thing to stop it." He was expecting the baffled expression she gave him. "I know because I've tried. Hell, just a couple of months ago I unloaded on some ghost bitch that was after Sam, but it didn't even phase her. Can't tell a woman in white anything."

Emily was looking at him as if he'd completely lost his mind. "Ghost?"

"Yeah, ghost." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, searching for a way to explain things in a believable way. Unfortunately, there wasn't one. "Sam and I, well, something real bad happened when we were just kids, something happened to our mom. We…hunt things…evil things."

Emily propped the 44 against the wall and kneeled down, resting her arms on the windowsill. "Are you like those 'real Ghostbuster' guys they have on the Sci-Fi channel?"

He grinned wryly. "I guess you could say that, except this job's not like Hollywood, it's for real. We hunt real evil, and this thing that killed the Finches, it's real evil."

He hadn't expected her to believe, no one ever did, and he wasn't sure if she actually did, but her tone was far from mocking when she asked ", What do you think it is?"

"Honestly, I think it's a demon, and a nasty one at that."

He waited, waited for her to laugh or explode with anger for harassing her. But she just stared out into the night; features somber as the wind ruffled her hair. She sighed, a small sound, but it carried a heavy sadness with it. Finally, she turned to Dean, her eyes shimmering. "I always thought…always wondered…if there were…if," she sighed, not able to believe her own words. "I don't know why I trust you, Dean, but I somehow know that you're telling the truth. Thank you for caring."

He didn't quite know how to respond, but he reached out and touched her arm softly. "Go back to bed, I'll keep watch."

She smiled, collected her gun and returned to bed. He heard the rustle of the sheets, the sound he'd heard earlier, as she climbed into bed and leaned his head back against the chair. _Wow_ he thought. _I sent a girl to bed and didn't go with her; I must be losing my touch._ He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of pine and freshly mown grass. _I'll just rest my eyes for a minute…_

-O-

Sam had flipped through the antique book for about forty minutes, scanning the lines about worship and faith. He assumed that it was a Christian manual, seeing as how it was written in Puritan times, but had not seen any mention of God or Jesus. He had, however, noticed repeated use of the name Cristolokar and decided to resort to Internet research.

He pulled up his laptop and typed in the book's title _The Servant's Prayerbook. _He clicked on the first link that appeared and gasped.

-O-

Dean wasn't sure what had awakened him. It must have been Sam shuffling around or something. The sunlight coming in through the motel room windows was bright, too bright, and he clamped his eyes shut even harder and squirmed against the mattress. No, wait, not a mattress, a chair. He didn't remember there being a chair in their room. A door slammed. Sam always slammed doors. The he heard footsteps, footsteps on a wooden floor. Their room didn't have a wooden floor…

Dean's eyes snapped open and he was still sitting in the rocking chair outside of Emily's window, and Emily's father was walking across the porch towards him. He didn't look happy.

Russell's face was clouded with bewilderment and rage. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Um…Mr. Russell…Sir, if you'll let me explain…" Dean clambered up out of chair, simultaneously trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.

"Explain what?" Russell's brows were pulled so low that his eyes were no longer visible. "Explain how you're not actually a police officer and how you're sitting outside of my daughter's window?"

"Sir, I know this looks bad, but I'm just trying to help…"

"Help what! Help my daughter become a slut?"

Dean's calm protest died in his throat, he couldn't believe Russell was talking about Emily in that way. "Emily is in danger, and so are you and your wife. I'm just trying to protect all of you," his tone now matched the older man's.

If it was possible, Russell became even more enraged. "Get the fuck out of here! Do you hear me? Get the fuck away from my family!"

"This is not the time for denial, James. You know exactly what's going on here…"

"Dean!" The urgent whisper caused both men's heads to swivel towards the window where Emily was leaning out, face creased with distress. "Dean, just get out of here, he won't listen to you," she pleaded.

Dean turned back to Russell, jaw clenched with anger. "This is far from over," he said quietly. "It's coming for you, and you better hope I'm around to save your ass when it does." He shot Emily an apologetic glance and sidestepped a trembling Russell. He'd hit a nerve, the man was quiet. Dean just hoped he actually could save them all.

-O-

Sam could hear the loud, throaty growl of the Impala's engine as is pulled up outside their ground-level motel room. Tired of waiting on Dean, he crossed the room and opened the door before his brother could knock. "Where the hell have you been? I've called you six times!"

Dean pushed Sam aside roughly as he entered and slung his jacket onto the first bed. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he noticed that it was set on silent, so as not to make any noise at the Russell house, and he did indeed have six missed calls.

Sam had closed the door and came around the other side of the bed to face Dean; arms folded and lips set in a thin line. Dean glanced up from his phone. "I was at Emily's."

Sam seemed to accept his explanation and let his arms fall. "Was she alright?"

Dean gave a humorless laugh andlet his phone drop to the bedspread. "Oh yeah, that girl's probably got more ammo under her pillow than I've got in the trunk."

Sam was curious as to what Dean meant by "ammo" but didn't want to waste time asking. "Well, look what I've got." He took a seat on the other bed and picked up his laptop. Dean joined him.

"I looked up that book Dad left for us, and turns out it isn't a prayer book."

"Well what is it? Are you trying to keep me in suspense here?"

Sam gave a small smile and turned the laptop towards Dean, revealing the article he'd found the night before. "This thing is old, from way back when the first colonists came to America."

"That's old."

"Yeah. Anyway, it talks about being faithful and being a servant, almost like a bible of sorts. But these 'prayers' are actually summoning spells." He used the computer's cursor to highlight a particular paragraph of the article and motioned for Dean to read.

_The spells contained in the book were used to raise Cristolokar, a demon of great power and great evil. The root of his name, cristo, suggests that he was a savior for those who summoned him_.

"Who the hell would think that?" Dean asked incredulously.

"A Puritan minister named Charles Blackwood," Sam said, pulling up a different article. "Old Charles thought that there was a warlock in his Massachusetts village who was controlling the townsfolk. It says here that they tried to hang, burn, and drown the warlock and none of it worked. So Charles decided to fight fire with fire, and he and five other church members used this book to raise a 'savior'."

"But where did they get the book?"

"I don't know, theirs is the first recorded use of it. But I do know that it worked. Cristolokar came alright, and he possessed every man who helped raise him, strangled his family, and then moved on to the next host."

Dean jumped off the bed and began pacing back and forth. "So this is definitely our demon. Did any of them survive?"

Sam grimaced. "Well, not exactly. You see the townsfolk caught on to what was happening. Blackwood was the demon's last victim, and before it could jump ship, the 'warlock' had the bright idea of burying Charles alive with this book."

Dean curled his lip at the thought.

"The good news," Sam continued ", is that once the demon killed Charles, it stayed buried. That must mean that when Cristolokar is finished with the last of his servants, he goes back to whatever hell he came from."

Dean stopped pacing and looked at his brother. "So that means that…"

"Way ahead of you," Sam opened the book to somewhere in the middle and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The paper looked much newer than the book's pages and Sam held it up for Inspection.

_We are the Servants of Cristolokar; we live only to serve him. We shall watch as he cleanses the earth of all that is unholy. This we solemnly vow:_

_James Russell_

_Daniel McPherson_

_Simon Finch_

_William Freemont_

_Sarah Hawkes_

_Joseph Wilkins_

Dean sighed heavily and sank down onto the bed once more. "Even if we find Cara and exorcise her, the demon won't stop until it kills Russell."

Sam closed the laptop and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, but we have to try, you said it yourself that we can't…"

The chirp of Dean's phone, which he'd taken off silent mode, interrupted him. Dean dove for it, praying it was their father calling to give them another clue as to how to fight this thing. But he was disappointed when he didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Dean…Dean…"the voice on the other end was weak, but it was definitely familiar.

"Emily? Emily what's wrong?" he rose, heart suddenly thumping.

"I…Cara…help me…please…"

"Emily?"

He could hear a thump, as if something heavy had hit the ground. Then he heard a different voice, a cackling voice, and it sent chills up his spine.

"Emily, I'm coming!" he yelled into the phone and slammed it shut. Sam was already at his side, pulling on his coat and the two raced for the car, praying that it wasn't too late.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: There's only one more chapter after this. Enjoy.

Chapter 9

The Impala screeched to a halt in front of Emily's house and Dean could tell from the street that the front door was wide open. "Come on!" he huffed at Sam and rolled out of the car, snatching up their small bag of supplies needed for an exorcism. Sam wordlessly followed and they sprinted across the lawn to the porch.

It was as if Dean had tunnel vision, his only thought was getting to Emily. He knew she was in trouble, serious trouble, and he had to get to her before it was too late. He was so focused on getting inside the house that he never saw the large object slumped on the porch until it caught the toe of his boot and sent him crashing to the ground.

"Oh shit!" he just barely managed to bring his hands up in time to prevent his face from smacking the threshold. He lifted up and turned to see the cause of his fall, a human body. Actually, a girl to be more precise, and she looked about Emily's age but slightly heavier.

"It's Cara," Sam's words echoed what Dean thought must be true, and the younger Winchester knelt to check for a pulse.

Dean didn't have time to wait around. He knew the girl was already dead and scrambled back to his feet, his motions hastened by the sudden, ear-piercing scream that rang through the house. He charged through the entrance and into the foyer, trying to determine the location of the scream. Another scream, this one followed by a loud crash, led him to a room just off to his right, the living room.

Dean wasn't sure what he'd expected to find, but certainly not the scene that met his eyes. There was Emily, in all of her five foot one inch terror, pinning a woman that must be her mother against the wall with one hand. The other hand held a chair leg, its owner having been used to knock James Russell across the room and the man now lay motionless beneath the ruined piece of furniture.

"Emily!" Dean called, and the girl's head snapped around to where he stood. The once hazel eyes were endless pools of black and her pretty face was contorted into a mask of what could only be described as pure evil. "Emily," Dean tried again and felt Sam come skidding to a halt behind him.

The creature that had taken Emily's body cackled, using the girl's vocal chords to conjure up a sound from the very depths of hell. "Emily was weak," the creature spoke, the voice like fire crackling. "She was so soft, so pliable." With those words, and wicked smile played across its lips and it grasped Mrs. Russell by the throat, swinging the woman around in front of it like a rag doll.

"Here," Dean shoved the small bag at Sam. "Start reading."

Sam obediently tore open the bag and pulled out the weathered family bible, the pages needed for an exorcism already folded down. He began chanting in Latin, the phrases rolling off his tongue like lines memorized for a long rehearsed performance.

Dean headed towards the creature carefully and tried to calm Mrs. Russell. "It's okay Ma'am, we're here to help."

The woman stared into Dean's face, openly sobbing. She was an older version of her daughter; they shared the same nose and round cheeks. Only now the likeness wasn't so apparent as the creature twisted Emily's face to its own liking. "Please, please help me!" Mrs. Russell cried, trying to pull free from the creature.

The thing cackled again and spun Mrs. Russell so that it was facing her and grasped her throat with both hands. Dean could see the tension in its arms as it began to squeeze Mrs. Russell. "No…no…Emily!" Mrs. Russell gasped, scratching wildly at her daughter's arms. Her nails drew blood, but the creature was oblivious and raised Mrs. Russell up off the ground, closing the woman's windpipe. Mrs. Russell tried to call out again, but couldn't, she couldn't even draw another breath.

Dean saw that it was his only chance and dove at the creature, grabbing it around the mid-section and pulling it to the floor with him. It immediately dropped Mrs. Russell, who crumpled lifelessly onto the hardwood, and turned its attentions to the new threat: Dean.

When they landed, Dean had the good fortune of ending up on top and had the creature pinned with its wrists on either side of its head. It hissed and spit at him, trying to wriggle its way free. Dean knew that he wasn't stronger than a demon, but he was pretty damn strong and figured he might be able to hold on to the thing long enough for Sam to finish his recitation.

"Emily, I know you're in there somewhere. Just hold on, baby," he pleaded.

The creature grinned once more, a chilling expression. "Emily's gone, I told you she was too weak."

Dean could feel its hot breath, almost taste the evil that the thing radiated. He turned away, feeling sick to his stomach. "Sam!" he thundered. "Hurry the fuck up!"

Sam was chanting as loudly and quickly as possible, one hand holding his shaggy hair out of eyes so that he could see the words more clearly.

A soft moan floated from across the room, signaling that Russell was coming to. Dean heard scraping sounds as the man lifted the chair off of himself, then a gasp. "What are you doing? What are you doing to my daughter?"

"Not the time, James!" Dean said through gritted teeth. It was getting harder to hold the creature, it was too strong. He knew that he had to get to the vial of holy water inside his jacket before Sam finished, but he couldn't afford to loosen his grip.

Russell was on his feet now, staggering across the room towards Dean and what he believed to be his daughter. "Get off of her! Get off of her!" he screamed, hands pawing at the air as he neared man and monster.

"Don't come any closer!" Dean yelled, watching horrified as the enraged father drew even closer.

Suddenly there was a hand on Russell's shoulder and Dean noticed that Sam was no longer chanting. "Mr. Russell, that's not Emily, it's Cristolokar. You have to let us finish the exorcism," Sam tried to reason.

Dean felt the creature bring its knee up and catch him in the gut. "Sammy! Finish it now!"

Then something happened that none of them expected; the creature stopped struggling. Dean looked down and to his amazement was met by Emily's hazel eyes, unclouded by evil. She was pale and shaking. "What…" then recognition flashed across her features. "Dean, please help me…please help me…" Her eyes rolled back into her head and then became filled with blackness once more.

For just a moment, Emily had broken through the creature's hold, but now it had her once more. But now the creature looked shaken, unsure of its control on the host.

"Weak, huh?" Dean asked maliciously. "You can't hold on to her, can you asshole?"

The creature snarled with pure hatred for the man pinning it to the floor. "What makes you think you can do any better, Winchester? You think you can keep her forever?" Dean was slightly taken aback by its comments and the creature took that fraction of a second to shove him aside and kick up to a standing position.

"Dean!" Sam grabbed his brother's collar and hauled him to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"Just keep reading," Dean barked and pulled the holy water from his jacket.

As Sam resumed, Russell went to his daughter, arms outstretched. "Emily, it's me, it's Dad!"

Dean could see the creature lunge for the man, going no doubt for his throat. He leapt forward and knocked Russell out of the way, catching the brunt of the creature's attack. It missed his throat, but pushed him to the ground, looming over him.

"And now she will kill you!" the thing growled, pulling back to pounce on Dean. But the attack never came. The creature paused, then spasmed, arms jerking around unnaturally. It hissed and moaned, smoke starting to come from its ears.

"Are you doing that Sam?" Dean asked as he scooted away from the creature.

"No," Sam stood, bible still open, amazed at what he was seeing.

Dean suddenly realized what was about to happen as the thing began to tremble all over, black eyes flickering. "The book, Sam. The prayer book!"

Sam dug into the bag that had held the bible and pulled out _The Servant's Prayerbook._ He tossed the heavy volume to Dean, who caught it just in time.

The creature dropped to the floor on all fours and howled with unearthly pain. Something that looked like black water began to pour from its eyes, nose and mouth, and hung suspended in the air like smoke. The floating puddle took on a life of its own and shot through the air towards Dean. He brought the _Prayerbook_ up in front of his face and the blackness seemed to be sucked into it as if the volume were a sponge.

As soon as all traces of the liquid were gone, Dean yanked the Zippo he carried for just such emergencies from his pocket and lit the corner of the book on fire. Almost immediately, the entire thing exploded into blue flames and he dropped it to the floor where it crackled into naught but a pile of black ashes.

Dean looked up from the burning book to where Emily was still on her hands and knees. She looked at him, her face extremely pale and her eyes glazed over. But they were her eyes. She was the real Emily, untainted and very much alive.

"Dean?" she whispered just before her eyes fluttered closed. He rushed forward as she lost consciousness and collapsed into his arms.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Emily was cold, very cold. Her teeth were chattering and she dared not open her eyes for fear of them freezing inside her skull. But she was curious also, very curious, and the urge to view her surroundings overwhelmed the need to keep her lids clamped shut. Slowly, she opened one eye by just a sliver, then the other one. Realizing her fear of frozen eyeballs was quite irrational; she opened them the rest of the way.

She was barefooted, she realized, and dressed in a long, white nightgown. The floor beneath her exposed toes was hard-packed dirt. But she wasn't outside. No, as she raised her head she saw that she was in a building, a cavernous building, most likely a warehouse. The windows were clouded with dust and grime, but it didn't really matter because it was dark outside anyway.

"Where am I?" she whispered, but the sound came echoing back through the warehouse as loud as a clap of thunder.

At her words, a single beam of light sliced through the darkness, creating a spotlight not ten feet in front of her. She blinked at the harshness of the sudden light and recoiled when a shadowy figure stepped into the spotlight. She gasped and nearly stumbled backwards at the appearance of the broad-shouldered, cloaked figure.

"I knew you would come." The voice was male, and somehow familiar, but Emily couldn't put her finger on who it was.

"Who are you?" she asked warily. She began to circle the spotlight, hoping to catch a glimpse of the figure. But he turned with her, never letting the black cloak slip.

"You know who I am," he spoke. "You have come for answers."

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, feeling colder than ever. "Answers to what?"

The figure raised a shadowy arm and Emily suddenly felt a pressure at her throat. She grasped her neck with both hands, hoping to alleviate the pressure, but it only increased. It was getting harder to draw breath, her pulse became more rapid. "Stop," she tried to wheeze, but no sound would come out. She began to claw at the skin in a panic.

_Can't breathe. Can't breathe…_

Something cracked in her throat and everything went black.

-O-

Emily sat bolt upright in bed, gasping and panting for breath. Breath, yes she could breathe. She raised a hand to her throat gingerly and realized that it had all been a dream. Well, more like a nightmare.

She was in her room, in her own bed. As her hear rate returned to normal, she looked around to see that everything was in its place: her stereo, dressing table, desk and chair. The blinds were drawn, but tiny slivers of light leaked through the cracks and fell like stripes on the parquet floor.

She never slept during the day, never. _Why am I in bed?_ She wondered. Then it all came flooding back to her, as if a dam had burst. She remembered talking to Dean that night and the argument the next morning with her father. She remembered Cara coming to her door, remembered the blackness of her friend's eyes. Something had felt so wrong, so evil. She vaguely recalled fighting with something, struggling against something within her. And then her mother…

"Oh God," she breathed, burying her face in her hands. "What have I done?"

The "Ding-Dong" of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts and she heard her father's voice as he answered it. He was talking with someone, two someones in fact, and whoever it was sounded familiar.

She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and winced as they made contact with the cold floor. She hadn't realized how sore she was until she stood up, and she noticed the bruising on her wrists for the first time. Grimacing with every step, she slowly made her way to the door and opened it just a crack so that she could eavesdrop.

-O-

Dean let his hand fall away from the doorbell and peered in through the narrow column of windows beside the door.

"Dean, Mr. Russell isn't going to be happy to see us," Sam commented, shifting his weight impatiently.

Dean gave him a withering stare. "I just want to make sure Emily's okay, is that alright with you?"

Sam knew it was a rhetorical question, but also knew that there was something bothering his brother. "You know…what that demon said, it didn't mean anything. All that 'keeping her forever' garbage, he was just talking sh…"

"I know, Sam," Dean said a little too quickly. "I'm following up on a job, that's all." He rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "Dad thought this was important enough to break in and steal that book, so I wanna make sure everything's alright."

"If Dad thought it was so important, then where is he? Huh? Why didn't he help us?" Sam's voice rose with every word, eyes flashing angrily.

"Shut up Sam," Dean's tone was dangerously quiet. "Don't talk about Dad like that."

Sam's retort died in his throat as the door to the Russell home creaked open and James' face appeared. The man looked exhausted, he had dark circles under his eyes and sported a day and a half's growth of beard. He looked slightly shocked to see the Winchesters standing at his door, but managed a faint smile.

"Sam, Dean, won't you boys come in?"

"Um…sure," Not having expected an invite, Dean glanced at his brother who just shrugged in response. They followed Russell into the house and into the living room where just twenty-four hours ago; Emily had nearly killed her parents.

"Sir, we just wanted to make sure everyone was okay," Dean began.

Russell sighed and sank into a leather recliner, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Yes, we're fine thank you," he said, eyes still closed. "My wife is set to be released from the hospital sometime tomorrow and Emily is sleeping in her room."

Both boys nodded. "Good to hear," Sam offered.

Russell gave another excuse for a smile and perched his glasses atop his nose once more. "Listen…I can't thank you two enough for what you did. Without your help…"

"Thank us?" Dean snorted and his whole demeanor changed. Sam recognized his brother's stance and knew that he was fighting the urge to deck James Russell.

"Thank us?" Dean repeated. "Why don't you thank your daughter? Sam and I didn't save your sorry ass, Emily exorcised that demon herself."

"Demon?" Russell asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about," Dean leaned down and placed a hand on each arm of Russell's chair, looming in the man's face. "What? Did you think you could just conjure up a demon for kicks, see what happened? Then you could just run away like a little bitch, huh?" he was yelling now. "You put that book under Emily's bed, you bastard!"

"Dean," Sam put a hand on Dean's arm and pulled him away from the older man. Russell was trembling now, tears coursing down his cheeks.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," he sobbed. "None of us did."

Sam motioned for his brother to keep quiet and turned towards emotionally unstable Russell. "How did it happen, James? How did you find the book?" he asked gently. Dean was still glaring at Emily's father, but had resorted to pacing back and forth in front of the sofa.

Russell hiccuped a couple of times and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "It was Daniel," he finally croaked. "Danny found the book at a construction site in his home town. He said they'd dug up a bunch of unmarked graves on accident when they put in a new shopping center," he paused to wipe his nose again. "We…I researched the book and decided that…that it would be…interesting to see if we could actually conjure the…the demon."

"Jeez," Dean muttered with an eye-roll and earned a glare from his brother.

"But it was too much to handle, wasn't it?" Sam pressed quietly. "You didn't mean for Daniel to die."

"Of course not!" Russell exclaimed and Dean muttered something unintelligible. "After it happened, we all split up, hoping it couldn't find us."

"But why did you keep the book?" Sam asked.

"I just thought that, I don't know, nothing else would happen."

-O-

"…Nothing else would happen."

Emily felt herself begin to shake with pure rage at her father's words. He'd left the book under _her_ bed, his daughter, and his own flesh and blood. He'd thought that 'nothing else would happen' and had been careless. Because of him, Emily had nearly killed her mother. If it hadn't been for Dean and Sam…

She dashed away the tears that were checked in the corners of her eyes and drew in a ragged breath. Dean had said that he Sam hunted evil things, things she hadn't wanted to believe existed. But now she knew differently, she'd seen the fires of hell and lived to tell about it. No matter what her father said, he could never make things right. He could never take back the things he'd done that had caused so much pain and death.

She needed answers. She needed to know what was out there lurking in the dark, waiting to take her soul. She had to know why her father had done the things he had done.

Taking one last deep breath, she pushed her pain aside and rose, she had things to pack…

-O-

"Nothing else?" Dean poked his head around his brother's shoulder to ridicule Russell once more.

"I'm sorry! You have to believe that I never meant for this to happen!" Russell pleaded.

Sam was rapidly growing weary of this conversation. Dean was angry beyond all reason and Russell was a blubbering mess. He knew that he had to get them out of there before Dean lost control of his fist and planted it in Russell's face.

But all three men were suddenly drawn by the sound of someone very small clearing her throat. Emily stood in the doorway to the living room, dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, and her motorcycle jacket. She had a blue, quilted duffel bag slung over one shoulder and her 44 magnum over the other. She still looked a little pale, but was standing rigidly, trying not to show the aches and pains of her wrestling match with Dean.

Dean and Sam just stood there blinking, stunned into silence. Russell turned towards his daughter, face lighting with happiness. "Emily, sweetie. Are you feeling alright?"

She gave her father the coldest look imaginable and Sam could swear he could hear the man's heart breaking. Then she turned away from him and took several stiff steps towards the brothers.

"Are you…okay?" Dean asked, not quite sure what to say.

Emily took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and looked into Dean's eyes. "I'm coming with you," she said firmly without any traces of indecision.

Sam recognized the look on her face; he'd seen it on his brother and father many times before. It was that stubborn-ass look that said 'I dare you to tell me any different'. He looked sideways at Dean. He knew this wasn't his decision to make, it was between Dean and Emily.

Dean stood there helplessly, looking completely bewildered. He weighed the possibilities in his mind. If Emily left, Russell would be utterly lost and depressed. But on the other hand, his actions of the past had already lost him his daughter. Dean didn't want to become mixed up in the family troubles of someone else, Lord knew he had enough of his own.

But he couldn't turn away from Emily, from those eyes. They were full of so much pain and confusion. She had forced that demon out, all on her own, a task that he hadn't thought possible. He knew she had so many questions, and no matter what her father said, she would never feel the same about him.

"Fine," he said quietly and reached to take her bag. Her eyes thanked him quietly and she handed over her bag, but held on to the rifle.

Sam looked at Russell one last time. The man had dropped his head into his hands, utterly defeated. He didn't try to stop his daughter as she walked through the front door with the Winchester brothers. Sam pulled the door to gently behind him, leaving Russell alone, with nothing but an empty house and his inner demons.

**The End**

_That was the end! However, I have a sequel (or two) in the making and would like to carry Emily through a few more fics with the boys. Plz review and let me know what you think! Thx. _


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